I can be fingered, strummed, picked, even slid upon, but I cannot be used with one hand. People use me to create, to impress, break the ice, make money.

I am a poison, but can be bought at the store. I can help a conversation, or make you speak no more. Many have been lost to me, and locked behind doors. When I am done with you, you might end up on all fours.

I shoot from stars and glowing cores, Slip through the cracks of lead-lined doors. I’m cure and curse in the same bright breath, Invisible touch that can bring death.

I am always hungry I must always be fed The hand I touch Will soon be red

For those below, their years Are carved onto my skin I stand hardened with my peers In a field of pain and chagrin